Of Proximity, Ravines and Warmth
by Pommery
Summary: Un-Beta'd Strange thing I wrote to lose the writer's block. Not sure if it makes sense, But I did spend the week and a half on antibiotics. Slash Gibbs/Tony


Title: Of Proximity, Ravines and Warmth

Fandom: NCIS

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: A strange un-betaed thing to get break some writers block, I'm not sure if it makes sense, but I did spend the last two weeks on antibiotics.

Warnings: Slash, crackiness.

* * *

They were dangerously close to cuddling.

Not that they could help it much. There was only so much space and they both had injuries that were in awkward enough places to overrule the self imposed "personal bubble" they floated in everyday.

When Tony realised he was squinting at the air a foot above Gibbs head (resting on his shoulder, tilting ominously towards his chest, threatening to leave 'possible cuddly position' and orbit 'snuggle') trying to see the remnants of said bubble he considered the possibility that he my have hit his head harder than he thought.

_This was not my fault_, He thought stubbornly, and then tried saying it out loud, with confidence and a bit of Bogart-suave, but it sounded slurry: a bit cold.

Funny, because he felt warm.

Gibbs head left his shoulder and _then_ there was a slight chill, he wondered if he said it wrong-was this his fault? He didn't think so, but Gibbs might know different and when is Gibbs wrong?

All he really knows is that he's reclined against a boulder and their legs are tangled together –maybe he didn't want to apologise. Gibbs wouldn't want him to either, but that never stopped him from feeling it.

Stupid bubbles.

"Tony?" That was Gibbs' voice. He would've liked to say it was _Gibbs_, but the Marine never sounded that vulnerable before, so it was just his voice.

"Hmm?" Tony had wrapped one arm around his shoulders, holding him close, and Tony wished he could get the other man to put his head back down, because his hair might have mud on it but it was easier to look at then the swollen mess around the side of his face.

The arm that wasn't wrapped around Gibbs was likely broken, and when he looked at dried blood crusting a corner of Gibbs mouth, it seemed to throb.

Gibbs blinked at him, slowly, and he –carefully- twisted around to look at his surroundings, his body sliding down against Tony, braced against his chest, and Tony used his good hand to pick pieces of dirt and leaves out of the man's hair, because Tony was more or less aware of the fact that they were stuck in a ravine, with relatively minor injuries, and Ziva was only two hours away in the opposite direction, which may have been a souring fact for some people, but they didn't have a Ziva, and she might be scary-what with the knives and all-but she would notice something was missing eventually, so Tony was only a little worried.

Mostly about Gibbs. A little about bears, but it was always easier to be optimistic when you could hold on to something.

Gibbs head thumped against his chest wearily and Tony 'oophed' a little, combing his fingers through the silver strands, feeling strange.

"Shannon used to do that" He heard him mutter. Wasn't just his voice this time. Tony peered at the other man's face intently now, because his eyes were closed and the shadows around his features blocked out the bruising,

"Do you mind?" He asked softly, not wanting to wake him if he fell asleep. He felt Gibbs snort against him, and settle into his chest; "Never minded. S' the same with you."

Tony thought about mentioning his lack of red-hair and girly bits-but decided that could wait until they were both rescued and clean, preferably at home where Tony could make sure the Marine ate and had a decent night's rest.

His hand stilled.

"She had your six too, huh?"

Gibbs murmured in the affirmative, his face relaxing into a light sleep. Tony grinned a little foolishly and resumed stroking the Marines' head. It would be another couple of hours before Ziva found them, he figured, but it was a warm night, and he was in pain, would really love to sleep, maybe for week at most, and he could bitch about this for hours later.

He was right where he needed to be, wrapped around something precious, and if anybody asks it was manly warmth sharing that broke their proximity bubbles.

He always enjoyed cuddling, dangerous or not.

* * *


End file.
